


once like a spark

by tworoads



Series: gasoline [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Best Friends, College, LOTS OF FEELS AND EMOTION, M/M, University, when liam met zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tworoads/pseuds/tworoads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how did he live the first 20 years of his life not knowing who zayn malik was, what he looked like or how he moved and spoke and thought?</p><p> </p><p>or, british university AU! where liam falls head over heels for zayn, brings a heartbroken harry mcdonalds in bed, and listens to niall complain about fresher week parties at the bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	once like a spark

**Author's Note:**

> as promised, a little insight into the liam and zayn side of things in the 'gasoline' verse! once more we have the good intention to write about a romantic relationship, and sidetrack ourselves into the territory of how best friends function together. i'm sorry, clearly i can't help myself. 
> 
> if you haven't read 'there's gasoline in your heart, there's fire in mine' i suggest you do so first. title and quote from ee cummings poem of the same name. please read and review, and have a lovely day x

_once like a spark  
_ _when strangers meet, life begins_  
\-- ee cummings

 

 

it’s eight am and liam is freezing his balls off. he tries not to shuffle too much from foot to foot because his boss says that fidgeting looks _unprofessional_ but his boss isn’t standing outside in the morning as the first freshness of british september creeps into the air.

the chatter around him is monotonous: little freshmen standing anxiously in line looking to get into the library to get their student ID. he ushers them in one by one as students come out. the other kids who volunteer and work at the library had warned him about the trials and tribulations of working during orientation week, but he hadn’t believed it until now.

a line to get into a library? at 8am? liam hates that this is his life.

“go ahead,” he says to the next guy in line. he’s standing with a girl, who looks at him uncertainly. “you too,” liam adds with a kind smile on his face, physically _feeling_ icicles on his nose.

he glances up reflexively at the next guy who approaches and he feels something tug at his chest.

“hi,” liam says without the ability to stop himself, standing stiff and straight as a board all of a sudden.

the guy lifts his eyes up to meet liam’s. “hey,” he says, a little less loud and eager than his own greeting. liam resists the urge to blush.

“you here to get your student card?” at least there’s a good conversation starter.

the demigod laughs out loud, head tipped back. “ _please_ ,” he says, “not a fresher. second year.” he jiggles his arms a little, drawing liam’s attention to the books cradled in his arms. it’s so cold outside and he’s only wearing this long sleeved cotton looking thing, stretching over long, lean arms.

“ _freudian concepts in contemporary drama_ ,” he reads out loud, “and _the psychology of queer theory._ psych major?” liam takes a guess.

“how’d you know?” the guy laughs again, lips stretching over his teeth. he’s got lovely cheekbones, high and defined. liam doesn’t even really feel particularly cold anymore. “what about you?”

“sports journalism,” he tells him.

the boy makes a noise, as if he’s taking in it. “and here i thought you just liked loitering outside of libraries and chatting up strangers.”

“well, that’s my minor,” liam quips, and the boy laughs out loud again with amused eyes that quickly steal his gaze. as soon as he’s looked once, liam cant look away. this guy’s got crystal clear brown eyes, and. that doesn’t make sense, crystal isn’t _brown_ but this guy’s eyes are and they’re kind of captivating and perfect and lovely.

“hey,” a voice comes from somewhere behind this boy, somewhere in the winding line outside the library where they stand, “there’s been like, eight people come out! can we go in or what?”

liam has the good sense to blush, biting his lip to hide what he’s sure is a very sheepish smile. “right,” he mutters, daring to meet the boy’s eye, “right.” he looks smug, lips curling into a short smile which he tries to hide.

“i’m zayn, by the way,” he says as he passes to enter the library.

“liam.”

“maybe i’ll see you around, liam,” he says, _zayn_ says with another little smile, and liam lets the line move freely after that. his boss comes out and tells him he’s crowding up the library student center, to keep a better handle on the kids outside, but liam feels like he’s floating on air.

-

when he gets home after lunch, niall’s curled up in a ball on the couch. he’s got one arm hanging off of the edge of the couch, remote in hand, idly flicking through the telly with glazed eyes.

“you look cold,” he says by way of greeting.

“you look tired.” liam counters, unwrapping the scarf that he was wise enough to take to work this morning, “you weren’t here when i left this morning.”

“later than late night at the bar,” he says, stifling a yawn and sitting up to make room for liam on the couch, “fresher week means stupid uni parties every night. last night was traffic light party and someone spilt jelly from the red jelly wrestling pit all over the main sound system.” niall trails off, sounding exhausted.

“fucking fresher week,” liam mumbles.

“fucking fresher week,” niall echoes.

“couldn’t be fucked going all the way back to the dorms so i just crashed here,” niall says with another yawn, flicking past jersey shore on the tv.

“anytime,” liam assures him easily. “where’s harry?” he asks, and watches niall’s face change from flat out tired to something more distressed. “ni?”

“not out of bed yet,” niall admits, looking sheepish, “i mean, he got up and let me in and everything, but he just went back to bed. wouldn’t come out when i tried to get him up.”

liam resists the urge to scream.

(instead, he thinks about zayn’s pretty eyes and the way his raven coloured hair swept artfully over his forehead, and the way he said liam’s name when they parted ways on the steps of the campus library.)

there’s only so much more of the harry styles pity party that liam can celebrate.

“okay,” he says calmly, “okay, i’m gonna make some tea and it’s gonna put you to sleep and lure harry out of bed, okay?” liam doesn’t wait for niall’s response, just answers himself with another muttered, “okay.”

-

liam’s sweating something fierce when his phone beeps.

 _can u stop @ mcD on th way home and bring 1 big mac & 6 nuggets thnx li xx_ 

the irony of being stuck on a treadmill as harry begs for mcdonalds is not lost on liam. he warms down his work out, wipes down the machine and gets changed before leaving the campus gym.

it’s not quite dark outside, almost 5pm and dusk has begun to settle. he was starting to wonder what harry might make them for dinner but obviously the other boy has junk in mind, acting like a broken hearted fourteen year old drowning her sorrows in ben and jerry’s. he wraps his jacket around himself, sweat clinging to all of his clothes.

“liam?” a voice comes, and he stops to see zayn. zayn who he completely just _walked past_ and didn’t even realize.

he says, “zayn,” then he says, “wow, your hair.”

“what’s wrong with it?” the other boy asks nervously, suddenly, with a hand flying to smooth over his giant quiff.

“nothing, nothing,” he rushes out. “it’s just. so tall.” liam quickly adds, “i like it.”

zayn smiles shyly back at him, letting his compliment hang in the air between them. “so, you’re sweaty.”

liam flushes. it’s the way zayn _says_ it, the way he _speaks_. he could have just said _working out?_ or _been at the gym?_ but he lets the question out whilst gazing at liam from below his eyelashes, simultaneously enticing as he is innocent in what he says.

“i do that sometimes,” liam tells him.

zayn raises a sculpted eyebrow. “a lot?”

he’s got a feeling they’re definitely not talking about working out anymore. _quick, think of something clever and flirty and sexy to say_ , he tells himself, but it doesn’t work and he draws a blank.

“work out.” liam leads in a different direction. “sports journalism, remember?”

“i remember,” zayn confirms, voice low and languid, as if he’d honestly committed liam to memory. silence befalls them for a moment, and liam’s got that mantra going again in his head of _say something cool COME ON_.

“going out tonight?” he asks.

liam aims to be as subtle as he can, eyeing zayn’s chunky black docs and leather jacket, skinny legs wrapped up tight in jeans that look like they’ve been sprayed on. “there’s some fresher glow paint party at a bar around here,” zayn replies, gaze catching liam’s when it finally reaches his eyes again, “figured there might be some free booze,” zayn shrugs.

niall had been complaining about it for most of the afternoon, explaining how hard it is to get glow paint stains out of the walls.

“at the pub on mason place?” he asks.

“yeah,” zayn says. “you’re going?” he looks kind of hopeful and excited about it, like the prospects of the night just significantly improved.

zayn’s a lot less subtle in the way he looks at liam, just then.

he swallows, hoping its not as loud as it feels. “i,” he begins, thinking of harry and his stupid mcdonalds, his stupid sweatpants and his stupid bedroom that he will barely come out of since the thing happened. “maybe.”

“elusive,” comments zayn, a smirk growing over his beautifully pink lips. “in case you decide to grace us all with your presence,” he says, digging into his pocket and re-emerging, iphone in hand.

they trade numbers and zayn doesn’t seem grossed out by liam’s sweat-slicked hands all over his phone, or anything, so he takes it as a good sign.

“text me if you decide to come, liam payne,” zayn says, squinting down at his bright phone screen in the faded natural light. it reflects colors on his cheekbones, and liam wants to _lick_ them.

-

the girl working at mcdonalds gives him this look, as if to say _just after you’ve worked out? really?_  

harry’s door is closed when he enters the flat and liam rolls his eyes, knocks once and enters. harry’s wearing the same sweatpants he has been for the past two days, his chest bare and pale, watching some DVD.

“hey, li,” he pauses the voice on the screen. “did you get m’food?” he asks.

liam holds the mcdonalds bag in one hand as he stands over harry’s bed, and takes a deep breath. “you can eat this and cry for as long as it takes you to finish a big mac and six nuggets,” liam says sternly, “and then you’re showering and putting on some trendy t-shirt that cost 40 pounds even though it looks like it belongs in a thrift shop, and we’re going to the glowlight party at niall’s bar.”

harry raises his eyebrows at liam. “um, yeah, okay, funny.”

“serious,” liam counters, feeling determination surge through him. its less of a tradeoff and more of an ultimatum, and all really depends on how low harry’s self-esteem is at the moment to want to eat greasy food. liam knows him pretty well though, knows him inside and out.

“liam,” harry whines, reaching at him, “just give me my god damn food.”

“agree to come out with me,” he counters.

“you _never_ want to go out,” harry mutters, “let alone to a fresher party.”

“think of how much fun it will be, we can mock _everyone_ ,” liam tries to tempt him, dangling the paper take out food bag above his head. harry’s arms are folded. liam sighs, “if we see nick, we can come straight home.”

“deal,” says harry, reaching up to snatch the food from liam’s hand.

-

it’s been two weeks since harry’s been dressed and out, looking good and smelling manly and musky.

liam watches him swagger down the cobblestone street, eyebrows close knit together and hands shoved in his pockets. he looks more thoughtful, head hung lower than usual, but he it looks good on him and liam remembers why he sort of fell in love with him in the beginning.

liam’s clever enough that he can admit that it wasn’t really love. well, not at first. what he feels for harry now is a deeply wound bond, feels like a wire cable runs between them on a daily basis and when he and harry go their separate ways home for christmas every year, or have a fight, the wire stretches and tears, and he feels sad without him, but it never breaks. what he liked about harry first was his laugh, his lips. the way he crawled into his bed in their boarding school room and said, “i’m confused, liam. can you help?”

liam’s been helping harry for years, now. “you alright?” he asks, breaking the thick fog of silence that hangs over them. harry simply looks at him. “you wanna talk about what happened?”

“why bother?” harry says, kicking a loose stone on the ground.

“because it beats you never emerging from your room and me feeding you greasy food in your bed.” liam tries to poke fun at him, “i thought only heartbroken little girls lay in bed eating junk.”

“i am,” harry starts, but then he _stops_. he stops walking and stops talking and everything.

“you’re what?” liam asks.

harry shrugs. looks away, down the cold, empty street behind them. “heartbroken.”

“but you didn’t even want,” liam begins, but then he stops because he’s kind of yelling. of course he’s yelling, he’s frustrated and harry wont talk to him, and now that he _is_ , none of it is making _sense_.

“it’s not about what i want,” harry admits, leaning against the wall of the building they’re paused at. he cracks his knuckles habitually, the sound making liam cringe. he studies the planes of harry’s face carefully, can basically watch his brain tick. “nick doesn’t even want to talk to me now that i’ve said no to him.”

“so—“

“—so that’s all i ever was to him!” harry barks, pushing himself up off of the wall with a sudden burst of emotion. “he used to go on about how he was so glad we’d found each other, how well we got on, but. _fuck_. the minute i say no, it’s game over. he wants nothing to do with me. imagine if i picked up and left this, you and me, how would you—“

liam watches the distressed expression on harry’s face, rushes forward and pulls him into a hug. “hey, it’s okay,” he says, calm and steady, “haz, it’s okay. i’m not going anywhere.” he runs a hand through harry’s hair, “come on, we’ll go home.”

something like a smile flickers across harry’s lips, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “thanks,” he replies.

-

_you never showed_

liam’s phone lights up. it’s four am and harry’s asleep in his lap, curls flat from his hands running through his hair. reruns of fresh prince are back to back on the telly, and he doesn’t need to check who texted to know it’s zayn.

liam feels a little balloon of optimism in his chest.

 _elusive, remember?_ he replies

 _elusive versus leading me on_  

zayn’s reply is immediate, and seems serious.

 _elusive_  

 _i’m glad_  

 _i like your use of grammar in your text messages,_ liam tells him.

 _yours too. i like your grammar a lot_  

liam feels himself flush. _you’ve only met my grammar twice_ because apparently he can be witty and use the technique of implication when he’s not standing in front of zayn, drooling over his pretty face. 

 _where do you live?_ zayn asks next, quickly, like he’s been waiting to send the question since their instant messaging began.

it’s not really a very liam thing to do. there’s turmoil running through his mind, splitting it in two at the prospect of making or not making a decision. his foot is jiggling before he realizes, doesn’t even realize until harry’s sitting up, craning his neck and saying, “liam?”

“i think this guy i met is booty calling me,” he says without a filter.

“you met a guy?”

“that’s okay, right?” harry makes noise to protest, but liam cuts across him, “i’m asking as your best friend and room mate. do you mind if i have a friend over?”

“a sex friend,” harry wiggles his eyebrows. the doorknob jangles behind them and liam glances at harry. “that was fast,” harry announces with a laugh.

niall enters, covered in fluorescent muck. “liam’s having a sex friend come over!” harry tells him with enthusiasm. liam and him hadn’t done much when they’d come home, but liam noticed a shift in his behavior straight away. even if harry wasn’t okay yet, he was pretending to be for liam’s sake.

“as long as he’s not a freshman drinking for the first time and covered in glow paint,” niall complains, slamming the door behind him, “have all the sex you want.”

“rough night?” liam asks.

“i hate fresher week,” niall says, slotting himself into the small gap between liam and harry on the couch, “i hate fresher week _so_ much.”

in his lap, liam watches his phone screen light up. _we won’t have sex tonight_ , promises zayn.

-

zayn shows up about twenty minutes later, and while he’s not a fresher, he _is_ covered in glow paint. liam figures that it doesn’t matter to niall anyway; he and harry are a mess of sleepy limbs on the couch by the time zayn arrives.

“can i borrow your shower?” zayn asks, barely getting the sentence out without a surprisingly girly giggle. he smells like cigarettes and tasty cologne.

“my shower, my grammar,” liam mutters, grabbing him a towel and some fresh, paintless clothes, “maybe in time you’ll come to love me for me.”

“play your cards right,” zayn quips back over his shoulder, discarding his shirt.

when he emerges after the shower, zayn looks pale and a little more sober than before with his hair plastered damply to his forehead. he’s drowning in liam’s clothes, collarbones _super_ defined and liam cant seem to look away from them. all he knows about zayn is that he’s a psych major who likes parties with free alcohol, and liam doesn’t even _drink_.

“so,” liam starts, feeling his palms sweat. zayn said they weren’t going to have sex, but alone in his bedroom feels different.

“can we sleep?” zayn asks, looking wrung out and worn out from drinking.

“yeah. yeah!” liam scrambles to fold back his duvet, “yeah, we can do that.” the lights go out and zayn discards the shirt that liam had given him anyway, presses right up against him in the bed. the silence feels comfortable. “this feels like the start of a beautiful friendship,” liam mumbles as sleep becomes him, the darkness of the room cocooning them both.

“don’t say that,” zayn says, voice grainy and low pitched with sleep. liam frowns until he speaks again. “i don’t fall for my friends.”

liam’s stomach swoops and drops and dives. he feels like he’s met the right person. how did he live the first 20 years of his life not knowing who zayn malik was, what he looked like and how he moved and spoke and thought? any irritation about fresher week or anxiety about how harry was going to get over what happened with nick or where niall actually got his key to their place from seems to slip away, far away, to a place out of reach.

he lets himself smile. bravely snakes an arm around zayn, whose skin is still radiating warmth from the shower. “i’ll see you in the morning, zayn malik.” he doesn’t say _and every day after that_ , but he wants to because he knows its true. liam knows that it really is the start of something beautiful between them.

zayn shuffles closer and breathes evenly against him, and liam falls asleep as the first rays of morning light creep through under his bedroom blinds.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to know what happens next (and you already haven't), click the left arrow and check out part one ;)


End file.
